Tempt Me Tonight (26 page)

Up to now, he’d been taking this one hot encounter at a time. He’d wanted her body, and he’d wanted to apologize, make amends. But he hadn’t seriously thought of the future—of a
real
future, with
her.
He hadn’t imagined something like that was even possible.

Now, he had no idea where they stood. But hell, the way she’d looked at him tonight, he was beginning to wonder, think, feel—maybe…God, maybe he actually had a chance for more, something real, something like they’d shared a long time ago.

He sighed. That
should
make him happy.

If only it were that easy.

He peered upward to the black sky sprinkled with bits of light and a white crescent moon, old memories creeping into his brain unbidden.

What would Trish think if she knew how his mom had died? Would she still look at him the same way? Or would she look at him with shock, or maybe pity?

Aw, hell—maybe the answer didn’t even matter. Either way, she’d understand that people were right about the Ramseys and that he’d lived up to his name.

Sure, he’d built a business, tried to do right by Carissa, went through his days content enough. But when he thought about the past, especially about his mom, he felt like that adrift eighteen-year-old kid all over again. That kid who’d lost the girl he loved, then his mom, and then even his dad. That kid who’d suddenly found himself trying to raise his little sister and care for a baby that wasn’t his. It had been the darkest, strangest time in his life, and he seldom let himself go back there in his head, but Trish was
taking
him back. Making him remember. Making him feel responsible for his mom’s death all over again, even though she couldn’t possibly know it. All
he
knew was that he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Just like Trish couldn’t forgive him for Bev.

He didn’t mess up in life often, but man, when he did, he messed up
bad.

He looked down at Elvis. “Know what I like about you? You’re easy. As long as I fill your bowl with Gravy Train and give you a scratch or two behind the ears, you’re happy.”

In fact, Joe usually looked at life the same way Elvis did. He didn’t normally over-worry things. He mostly left his mistakes in the past, where they belonged, and didn’t think about them—until just lately, with Trish’s arrival back in his life. And maybe that was a damn good way to live, now that he thought about it.

“Enough of this crap,” he muttered, pushing to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

As for Trish, he supposed it was simple. As long as she was here and letting him, he’d be getting as much of her as he could. He could tell himself it was a choice, but it wasn’t—it was just how things were.

And as for the future, hell…it wasn’t like she was going to stay. No matter what he’d thought he’d seen in her eyes tonight. And yeah, when she left, he was going to miss her, a lot. But he’d throw himself into his work, into Carissa, into all the other things that made him feel good and enjoy life. And he’d quit thinking about all the shit that had happened the year he was eighteen—he’d be able to push it to the back of his mind, again.

And that would be the one and only good thing about Trish heading back to Indy and leaving him behind.

Trish was driving. To the diner. To work.

It was Saturday, so she could have given herself a day off during her “vacation” without feeling any guilt, but the place wasn’t going to paint itself.

As she found herself reaching down to tune in a country station on her car radio, she couldn’t help sucking in her breath, remembering the very intensity of their sex last night. It seemed, with Joe, that it was
always
intense, that it never turned softer or average in any way. The sex was never just good—it was always
spectacular.

They’d not talked on the way home, just listened to the radio—the Eagles harmonizing on the old song, “Seven Bridges Road”—and they’d held hands on the center console as a warm breeze had washed over them.

At her door, he’d kissed her and whispered in her ear, low and raspy, “Thanks for letting me take you for a ride.”

She’d grinned at his double entendre, then said, “It was…a good ride, cowboy,” reaching up to plunk his hat from her head onto his.

It was a good ride, cowboy?
She cringed slightly now, remembering the words. Since when did she talk like a woman who hung out in honky-tonks? And yet, it had earned her one of Joe’s sexy little smiles, and another kiss before he’d left her on the big wraparound porch, nearly reeling from the night just past.

God. Men had taken her to the ballet, to French restaurants, to hear orchestras play. She’d worn velvet on dates, the occasional satin gloves, and one time even floor-length lace. But
this
—takeout at the Burger Barn and sex by the lake—had been the best date she’d ever had.

As she came up over the rise that led onto Main Street, it pleased her to see the older part of town bustling a bit this morning, a few people strolling up the street, and Marjorie standing outside her shop talking with another woman who’d just bought flowers, judging by the fresh bouquet in her hand.

She beeped, and Marjorie waved, and Trish realized she’d just driven right past the diner. She hadn’t exactly planned it, but she knew where she was headed. She’d be back painting cheerful colors on the walls and tables soon enough. Her heart kicked up a bit—although it had little to do with paint.

You’re happy then, living in Indy, being a lawyer?
Joe’s words came back to her. She’d answered automatically, saying the things she
always
said, the things she’d always thought she
felt.
Only they’d seemed a bit wooden to her—for the first time ever—and she had no idea why.

Probably just too caught up in
him
.

She couldn’t resist smiling when she pulled in at the garage, seeing his truck with the racy mudflaps parked to one side of the lot. None of her friends in Indianapolis would ever believe she was sleeping with a guy who owned those mudflaps—and she could barely believe it herself.

Except for when she remembered it was Joe.

He’d mentioned last night that he’d be here today finishing up a special job on a Lamborghini since the truck it had been shipped to the garage in was coming to pick it up that evening.

Three of the four bays were occupied by cars and guys working on them, and even though she’d never seen a Lamborghini before, it wasn’t hard to spot it in the first bay, nor was it hard to recognize Joe’s butt in well-worn jeans bending over it. No one had noticed her yet—all busy with their tools—and she didn’t want to startle Joe in case he was in the middle of some critical adjustment, so she stood back, just watching. From a speaker somewhere, Travis Tritt declared that it was a great day to be alive, and she couldn’t disagree. Something about standing here watching Joe work felt undeniably simple and right.

As he moved around the open hood of the car, she witnessed the concentration etched on his face, the narrowing of his blue eyes as he focused more closely on some part of the engine. When he twisted the wrench in his hand, the snake on his arm flexed slightly, making the crux of her thighs ripple in domino effect. The precision and care of each move somehow drew her in, reminding her exactly how good he was with his hands.

Just then, he rose up and gently let the hood drop shut with a solid little
poomf.
Drawing a red rag from his back pocket, he wiped away a handprint on the hood and another on the fender, finishing with a small stroke of the cloth just above the headlight that struck her as almost…loving, as if he were bidding the car farewell.

By the time he looked up, she was standing slack-jawed, that slight ripple from before spreading outward now, through her whole body.

His gaze swept admiringly over her, even though she was dressed the same as him—T-shirt and jeans. “Hey.” He didn’t quite smile, but looked glad to see her.

She pointed. “So that’s the famous Lamborghini.”

He gave a short nod. “Yep, all freshly serviced and ready to be shipped back to his owner in Louisville.”

She cocked a grin.
“His?”

He simply shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly.

“How do you tell if they’re boys or girls?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “By the size of the tailpipe.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh but still drew a glance from a mechanic working in the next bay.

“Come here,” he said, stepping closer for a short kiss, his hands closing softly at her waist. The thought that they might be greasy flitted through her mind for a fraction of a second, but who cared? Being touched by Joe made grease sound a lot more appealing than usual. “What are you up to today?”

“Just heading to the diner to keep painting.” She’d told him about some of the changes she was making there and why.

“Need help? I’m almost done here.”

“Tempting,” she said. Not only to make the work go faster but because she suspected having Joe there would make it more fun, too. She could only imagine the trouble they could get into with some cans of paint and a restaurant full of nooks and crannies not visible from the windows. “Except…there’s something about this project that makes me want to do it all myself. Just to see if I like the finished product, if I can make it what I want it to be on my own. Does that make any sense?” Even as she spoke the words, though, she couldn’t believe she was turning down time with him.

“Perfect
sense,” he said in a way that told her he really got what she was saying, and that maybe it had something to do with when he’d restored the Cobra.

“Before I get to work, though, I wanted to…invite you over. For dinner. And a game of Monopoly. Tonight.” She and her mom had cooked up the idea this morning over breakfast and she’d planned to call him later—until she’d found herself driving here.

Yet Joe looked less than thrilled. “Uh, yeah, that sounds like a real fun Saturday night. Monopoly with the cutthroat Henderson family while your dad glares at me the whole game. Hell, I’ll be afraid to buy any property, and God help me if he’s the banker.”

She couldn’t hold in her grin. While she harbored fond memories of Monopoly games with Joe all those years ago, she’d sort of forgotten how they’d always turned out. He’d frequently accused her family of being too competitive and ganging up on him. Which was mostly true, she supposed. She’d gotten her competitive nature from her parents—even her mom, who was perfectly mild-mannered until you put her in a game or contest of some kind.

“I was just thinking,” Trish explained, “that if you spend a little time with him, he’ll realize you’re not the devil incarnate and won’t give me such a hard time about seeing you while I’m here.” But then she sighed. Now that she really thought about it…“On the other hand, though, I don’t blame you if you don’t want to come. If it sounds like a total drag, I understand.”

To her surprise, however, Joe’s eyes softened on her. “Cupcake, nowhere you are could possibly be a drag. I’ll be there. What time?”

Precedent:
a legal decision serving as an authoritative rule or pattern in future similar cases;
or
any act or decision that serves as a guide for a later situation.

Trish mashed potatoes—the old-fashioned way, just like Debbie, because her mother insisted—while her mom stood at the stove frying chicken. The sweet, greasy scent filled her senses with childhood memories—she cooked a little, but she’d never fried a chicken. And the last time she’d used the masher to mash potatoes was before she’d left home.

“This would be a lot easier with the mixer, you know.”

“And wouldn’t taste nearly as good,” her mother shot back at her knowingly.

“But it might get the lumps out. I was never any good at this.” She looked down at the pot, feeling doomed.

“Nothing wrong with a lump or two. Just says they’re homemade.”

Trish considered debating that using a mixer didn’t negate their being homemade, but she knew she’d never win, lawyer or not, so let it drop—and moved on to something else. “Mom, do you think I’m stupid? For letting this thing with Joe…get started?” Of course, it had far more than
started,
but she couldn’t think of how else to say it.

Her mom wielded a pair of tongs, turning a chicken leg over in the sizzling, popping grease, and Trish wondered how she avoided getting burns. “I trust your judgment. What happened was a long time ago and I don’t like to hold grudges.”

“Unlike Dad,” Trish said, still mashing.

Her mom looked up, eyes inquisitive. “Does this mean it’s serious? Because I expected you to balk when I suggested dinner and game night. But you didn’t at all. And this is the first time you’ve brought a man around us since…well, since you went away to college.”

Oh, dear God.
Her mom was right! She’d never,
ever
brought a guy to meet them—since high school, since Joe. And other than the occasional “Are we going to meet this young man?” question when she was dating someone, she’d never truly even thought about it. Despite having had a few relevant relationships over the years, no one had ever really been important enough.

Of course, maybe Joe’s previous presence in the house made it easier to bring him back. Plus, he was already here—there was no travel involved, so it was less of a big deal.

“No,” she said, “not serious. We’re just, you know, enjoying each other’s company.”
And going at it like rabbits.

“Oh.” Her mom almost sounded disappointed. “I’ve always liked Joe—discounting what happened when you were young, of course. I remember he always enjoyed my fried chicken.”

Trish smiled—she’d forgotten that. “Yeah, he did.” But then she cleared her throat and mashed some more, thinking she’d sounded a bit too dreamy there for a second. And there was nothing dreamy—or serious—about this. She was having a wild affair with Joe that would soon be over. And some chicken and Monopoly would just make things easier in the meantime. “By the way, how did Dad take it when you told him Joe was coming to dinner?”